And as I walked along Sidney Street I passed a greasy-haired boy, undergraduate age I suppose (though they look so young and so on and so forth), who was standing by the wall and eating a pasty from a paper bag. Right at the moment when I passed him there was a huge papery pastryish munching sound, and I got a hot blast of the smells of lard-soaked pastry and gristly meat.
I think on balance I preferred the pasty to the dewberry, which probably says something about me.
Not something very interesting, though. But never mind.